


Make It Up To Me

by Ellipsical



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Johnlockary - Freeform, M/M, PWP, Polyamorous established relationship, Polyamory, Public Blow Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 22:22:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8178289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellipsical/pseuds/Ellipsical
Summary: Sherlock and Mary have been a bit selfish, but they're more than willing to make it up to John. In a restaurant. With a blow-job.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to my beta, the incredible [Hiddenlacuna](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenLacuna/pseuds/HiddenLacuna), who reminds me that commas are a good and necessary thing, and who encourages me to write smutty PWP of all sorts. All mistakes are my own.
> 
> Also, I know some of my followers know me to only write Johnlock so if Johnlockary is not your thing, I understand. Don't read this fic. While Johnlock is my OTP, I will occasionally write other pairings, including OT3's, some of which might not be your cup of tea. I would urge you to exercise your right to exit now. I do not want any wank and none will be tolerated or answered in the comments. Ship and let ship! As always, thank you for reading <3
> 
> Find the amazing cover art made by the amazing missmuffin [here](http://missmuffin221.tumblr.com/post/157323183474/make-it-up-to-me-by-ellipsicalelle-is-also-very).

“Mary.”

“Hmmm?”

John could hear the distraction latent in the hum. She must have been perusing the menu. If John opened his eyes he would see her thin brows quirked. The corner of her mouth tugged down. One red fingernail resting against her pink bottom lip.

“Mary.”

John almost chuckled at the irritated edge that sharpened Sherlock’s voice when he said Mary’s name for the second time. The prat didn’t like to be ignored. Especially didn’t enjoy having to repeat himself.

John ignored him, letting himself drift. The scent of rosemary and thyme from the plate of warm bread in the center of the table tickled the back of John’s nose and his thumb stroked down the curve of his wine glass, his body resting against the padded booth at his back. If left to his own devices John could fall asleep here, tucked into the back corner of the restaurant, lulled by the hushed undercurrent of other people’s conversations, the gentle candlelight painting the inside of his eyelids gold and red, the quiet only broken occasionally by the staccato clatter of plates each time the door to the kitchen swung open.

“Mary, I think John is tired.” Sherlock’s voice, pitched low, resonated inside John’s chest. In the dark all sensation was magnified. Intensified. Sherlock’s velvet breath feathering itself against John’s ear. The heat of Sherlock’s body radiating through his suit, pressed along John’s left side. In the next instance Sherlock’s large warm hand slid along the nape of John’s neck, sending a shiver down John’s spine as it met cool skin. Sherlock’s deft fingers kneaded the tight muscles. Unable to resist, John let his head loll forward onto his chest, a small breathless moan escaping through his lips.

“Completely knackered,” Mary agreed, sympathetically. “It was a long week at the surgery.”

“Didn’t help that I kept him out all night either.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t the fact that he had to fish you out of the Thames for the nth time either.” John smiled, imagining the offended look Sherlock was no doubt giving Mary in the charged silence that followed. Affection trickled down John’s chest, warm and sweet.

“Not put off enough to stop him from waking me up with his mouth on my cock this morning,” Sherlock retorted, with an audible smirk. Trying, John thought, to make Mary jealous.

Mary snorted.

Sherlock’s fingers tightened on John’s neck at the derisive sound and John arched into the touch reflexively, encouraging. Obliging, Sherlock dug in his thumb.

“Yes, well, he took care of me at the surgery,” Mary said. Smug. John could imagine the smile that went with it. A flash of teeth like claws. “Knelt beneath my skirt during our lunch break and then had to rush off when a poor bugger came in with third degree burns.”

“You think I couldn’t smell it on him when he kissed me in the cab?” Sherlock pinched the skin on John’s neck, belying the petulance not detectable in the cavalier statement, and John flinched, his shoulders rounding up by his ears. “Sorry, sorry,” Sherlock soothed, massaging his fingertips upwards, into John’s scalp, until John relaxed back into the touch.

“Are you both going to argue over me the whole evening?” John asked, thoroughly amused, leaning his forearms on the tabletop to give Sherlock better access to the back of his head. “It sounds like you both had a pair of rather spectacular orgasms today and I’ve had none. But by all means, keep complaining.”

“Poor John,” Mary said, snapping her menu closed. “We’ve been terribly selfish, haven’t we?”

Sherlock hummed his agreement, a rumbling purr that John felt vibrate in his cock. “We deserve to be punished, don’t you think, Mary?”

“What did you have in mind?” Mary asked, interest piqued.

“I think,” Sherlock murmured, his mouth on the shell of John’s ear, “that John should put his napkin in his lap.”

All the blood in John’s body rushed south at once. Dizzy, he blinked his eyes open, staring at the tablecloth in front of him.

Sherlock’s hand dropped away from John’s head a moment later and John felt the loss prickle down his arms, raising goosebumps.

“Here?” John asked, his voice shocked and hoarse. He glanced up at Mary who bit her thumbnail between smiling lips. Raised one brow at him. A dare.

Sherlock’s hand fell onto John’s thigh and lay there, quiescent.

John craned his neck and looked behind them. They were effectively hidden away in the back of the restaurant, he realized.  A screen of potted trees hid them from the hallway that led to the bathrooms. The nearest patrons were a few feet away, engrossed in their own conversations, and the tall scrolled booth hid them from wandering eyes. The penny dropped a second later. Sherlock had planned this. Had called ahead and requested this specific table.

Turning back around, John held Mary’s gaze as he untangled his utensils from the napkin that lay to the right of his plate. Unfurling it, he laid it over his lap. With a deep breath, blood pounding in anticipation, John leaned back in his seat once more.

Beneath the napkin Sherlock’s nimble fingers shifted down, lightly tracing the outline of John’s cock, which lay, heavy and full, against the inside of his left thigh.

“God, I love the feel of his cock getting hard,” Sherlock exhaled, breathy and low. John looked straight ahead of him; watched as Mary, eyes bright, nodded.

“The weight of it in your palm. So soft and hot,” she said, tilting her head to the side. “The way he can’t help but— yes, just like that.”

The tablecloth jerked as John’s hips thrust upward in a barely aborted movement, seeking friction, and Sherlock chuckled, his nose nuzzling through John’s hair. “Always so eager.”

Fingers on John’s zip. The grating buzz of the metallic teeth parting seemed overtly loud in the silence of their private corner. John ground his teeth, unable to stop himself from blushing, as Sherlock reached inside John’s trousers and into the opening of his pants, pulling John’s cock out. The rough texture of the napkin chafed against the thickening head as Sherlock stroked him a few times with a loose fist, smoothing his foreskin up and down, up and down. John’s hands, resting on the tabletop, curled into fists. Across from him, Mary’s eyes gleamed, dark and liquid, as she leaned forward, drawing John’s attention to the low cut of her neckline. Her creamy skin juxtaposed against the burgundy of her dress, the cleft between her breasts shadowed and deep. John licked his lips, mouth burning.

“Oh, Mary,” Sherlock gasped, sweeping his thumb over the crown and smearing the precome he found there in tight circles around John’s slit. “He’s already wet for me.”

“Fuck.” John shoved back, bracing his feet on the ground, his body trembling with tension.

“I want to taste,” Mary whinged.

Flicking aside the napkin Sherlock offered his fingers to her, the tips glistening in the low light. John groaned, muffling it by biting down on the side of his fist as Mary’s lips closed around Sherlock’s fingers and sucked them inside. Her eyes slid closed in obvious pleasure, her head bobbing forward and back, twice, before she pulled off with an audible pop.

“Christ,” Sherlock said, pale eyes glazed and pupils blown wide as he turned back to John. Leaning his forehead against John’s temple as his hand returned beneath the napkin to grip John’s cock, wrapping around the aching length and stroking up. “She’s good with her mouth, isn’t she?”

“So good,” John panted, trying not to move, not to fuck upwards into the tight circle of Sherlock’s fist, now damp with the heat of Mary’s mouth.

“Do you want her to suck you off, John?”

The casual offer knocked the wind out of him.

“No.” John shook his head vehemently at the suggestion, grasping desperately for his sanity, for the remaining shreds of his dignity. “I can’t— I can’t be quiet.”

“Oh, I think you could manage it, John,” Sherlock insisted, his mouth open and hot on John’s ear.

“Just a little?” Mary pleaded, running the tip of her tongue around the full pink heart of her mouth before biting down on her bottom lip.

“It’d be a shame to waste this,” Sherlock said, his motion speeding up, his fingers squeezing mercilessly at the tip, just where Sherlock knew it would drive John round the bend. “You’re harder than I’ve ever seen you. It’s impressive, even for you. Don’t you want to fuck something John? Don’t you want to shove your cock into something tight and wet? Don’t you want to feel her swallow around you? She’s so good at it. A true virtuoso.”

“Maybe you could take notes,” Mary suggested. _Oh, you wicked thing_ , John thought, chuckling silently to himself as he felt Sherlock stiffen beside him.

“Best to be always in practice though," Sherlock countered. Unable to let her bask for too long in his admiration. “You might want to brush up on your skillset lest you fall into second place.” Haughty and arrogant even when ceding primacy, the bloody git.

But John couldn’t even muster a laugh when Mary gave Sherlock back as good as he gave a moment later. He couldn’t so much as catch his breath. His heart was hammering a path through his body, bright and hard.

Sherlock continued a few minutes later, incessant, “Look at her John. She’s practically gasping for it.” Mary pouted and nodded eagerly. John’s eyes dropped, mesmerized, as her finger began circling around her right nipple, which stood out hard against the velvet crush of her bodice. “Give it to her, John. Put her out of her misery.”

“ _Sherlock_.” John couldn’t be sure how it sounded like he was acquiescing, but he was and they all knew it.

The glassware rattled against the table, a subtle tinkling, as Mary slid gracefully beneath it.

Small hands sliding up his shins to curve around his knees, and then, _tongue-lips-sucking-wet-heat_ , and John’s head banged back against the booth.

“ _Quiet_ ,” Sherlock hissed, trying to shush them, his hand moving to John’s thigh as he pushed up to look over the top of the booth.

“The waiter’s coming. Be quiet. Now,” Sherlock ordered. He turned quickly around and slid John’s open menu down into his lap to cover any telltale bulge that would give away the fact that Mary was currently kneeling beneath the table and licking a long wet stripe up the underside of John’s cock.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the waiter apologized as he came around the side of the booth. “Should I come back in a few minutes when madame returns?” He gestured towards Mary’s empty seat.

“No,” Sherlock said. “She’ll have the saltimbocca.”

A gust of heat across John’s lap as Mary breathed out a laugh at Sherlock’s (correct) deduction of what she had been planning on ordering. John’s hand closed around his wine glass, holding on for dear life, as the waiter’s eyes flicked up to meet his.

“The gno—“ he choked just as Mary’s teeth scraped a searing path up his shaft to mouth at the head. John coughed violently, shoving his hand below the table to fist in Mary’s hair, jerking her backwards. He cleared his throat, smiling up at the waiter. “Sorry. Um. I’ll have the gnocchi.”

Sherlock, god damn him, was smirking.

“And I’ll have the pappardelle with truffles,” Sherlock said, his voice gravelly and low and scraping up and down all of John’s tender exposed places.

Sherlock passed the waiter his and Mary’s menus and when the waiter reached for John’s, John barked, “No!”

“I’ll, I’ll keep this one,” John stuttered. Tried a smile. From the startled look on the waiter’s face it must have come across more like a grimace. John forced out a laugh. “Might want to order another bottle of wine,” he explained.

The waiter, looking nonplussed, nodded politely and then thankfully disappeared.

When he was safely out of earshot Sherlock shoved the table back an inch and moved John’s menu onto the tabletop. He turned towards John, shielding them with his body, able to keep a lookout over the top of the booth for anyone who might approach from behind. John lifted the tablecloth and Mary looked up at him, her cheek leaning into his palm, his fingers still tangled in her golden curls, holding her still.

John’s cock curved up towards his belly, dark red and shining. Sherlock’s left hand joined John’s around the back of Mary’s head, threading their fingers together and urging Mary forward, gently.

“The vein, Mary,” Sherlock encouraged, voice hushed and hungry.

Mary obeyed, dragging the flat of her tongue up the vein that bulged, blue and pulsing, on the underside of John’s cock. John cursed, heat slamming up his spine. He flexed his feet in his shoes, gripping the floor through the leather. She did it again. And again.

“He’s making a mess, Mary. Best to tidy him before he leaks all over his trousers.” Sherlock paused. “Let me?”

And before John could protest Mary had shifted back and Sherlock had bent down and licked out, tracing the throbbing red slit to gather the small pool of precome that had gathered there. John closed his eyes and buried his left hand wrist deep in Sherlock’s sleek curls as Sherlock took the tip into his mouth and then, with unbelievably tight suction, slid lower.

John moaned, low in his chest.

“Such a beautiful cock, John,” Sherlock murmured as he straightened back up. John turned and surged up to meet him, tasting salt and skin on Sherlock’s tongue and smelling musk and sex on Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock pulled away a moment later to glance over the top of the booth and John pressed his face into the curve of Sherlock’s neck. John could feel the words vibrate against his cheek, Sherlock’s heartbeat racing against his lips when Sherlock said, “How much do you think Mary can take? As much as me?”

“Oh, you’re on,” Mary said, accepting the challenge and leaning forward again. She sunk her mouth down, down, down until John hit the top of her palate and slid. John bit his lip, hard. She drew off a moment later, cheeks flushed, breathing heavily.

“Not bad,” Sherlock conceded, but his tone was unimpressed. Mary’s eyes narrowed on him.

“Don’t mind him, love. He’s just jealous. You’re perfect,” John said, touching her sweet swollen mouth with his fingertips. It didn’t matter one fucking bit that Mary couldn’t take all of him. He was…large. And Mary, well Mary was unnaturally gifted with her tongue.

“Yes, don’t mind me Mary,” Sherlock said and Mary muttered, “Oh fuck you,” before returning her mouth to John’s cock, her tongue leaving glossy trails up and down his stiff length. John could feel his orgasm gathering at the base of his spine, a hot burn in his thighs and hips.

Someone dropped a fork on the ground somewhere behind them and the sound cracked wildly through the restaurant. Reality came back to John in a rush. _Oh fuck. Oh bloody buggering fuck. He was going to come down his wife’s throat in a restaurant while his husband watched._ Closing his eyes tight as Sherlock said to Mary, “Let’s not compete over who can suck cock the best. We’ve already established that _you_ would win that particular contest. Let’s talk about what we’re going to do with John once we get him home instead…”

The next string of sentences were punctuated with long slow sucks from Mary, her hand wrapped tight at the root of him, moving in time with her mouth.

“Do you think you should fuck him with your strap on while I suck his cock?”

A swirl of tongue around the glans. Sherlock’s thumb brushing the side of Mary’s flushed apple cheek, touching John’s cock through the thin layer of rosy skin. John’s hips bucked. China rattled.

“Or should I fuck him while he fucks you?”

A long agonizingly slow glide down, her lips just meeting her the top of her fist. John’s cock just nudging the back of her throat.

“Or maybe we should tie him up so that he can watch while I eat you out…”

Mary’s cheeks hollowed, sucking hard and fast at the head.

“Or, what do you think, Mary…you in between? Riding both our cocks at once?”

Mary took John deep on that one, closing tight all around him as she swallowed, and John was there, coming down Mary’s throat, spilling hot and thick inside her mouth. White electricity crackled up John’s spine to pop behind his eyes.

Sometime later, vaguely, as if from a great distance, he could feel Sherlock putting John’s trousers to rights.

When John came back to himself, resting bonelessly against the padded booth, Mary was sitting across from him once more, hair smoothed back into place, calmly reapplying her lipstick with the help of a small compact mirror.

“Better?” she asked. Smug. Coy. Absolutely fucking beautiful.

John could hear the clip of the waiter’s footsteps growing louder behind him.

He looked up as the man rounded the corner, two plates in his hands, a third balanced in the curve of his forearm.

“Can I get you anything else?” the waiter asked once all the food had been laid and their wine topped up.

“Just the check,” John said, smiling as both Mary and Sherlock turned and looked at him. “The baby-sitter’s just called. We need to be going as soon as possible.”

“Certainly, sir,” the waiter said, giving them a small bow before he turned and left.

“‘Something’s come up?’” Sherlock quoted softly, twirling the tines of his fork through the pappardelle.

John hummed around a bite of his gnocchi. “Yes,” he said. “Or did you not mean what you said before?”

An uncharacteristic pause. John took a moment to savour the small pleasure of surprising Sherlock Holmes. “I meant every word.”

  
“Then hurry up.” John looked over at Mary who was grinning into her saltimbocca. “I believe, you’ve both still got some making up to do.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover Art for 'Make It Up To Me' by Ellipsical](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9841733) by [missmuffin221](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmuffin221/pseuds/missmuffin221)




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